This year marks the 10th anniversary of Catwoman's hilarious and humbling appearance at Rockreation in LA. Here's the costume and the story of that never-to-be-forgotten night of horrors. >^..^<

Ten years ago on Halloween

All week long, the manager of Rockreation—John—tried his best to talk me into entering the Bouldering Comp at the Halloween Party that Friday night at the gym. He was obviously desperate for bodies.

I, on the other hand, not being desperate for things to do on a Friday night, patiently informed him that I:

1. Didn’t like competitions
2. Hadn’t climbed much in over a year because of a pulled tendon
3. Was not into bouldering and never had been. What could I expect to get out of the evening except a terminal case of embarrassment?

Alas, John’s main character flaw was tenacity to the point of obsession. Tenacity, and perhaps a pathological disregard for any semblance of the truth. He kept at me, every time I walked in the gym he'd tell me how many more people had signed up. Loads of adults were coming, not just kids. Everyone was wearing costumes. It would be a great time. I kept saying NO. He kept sweetening the deal. Back and forth we went, him throwing out lures and me politely ignoring them. Finally he pulled the dirtiest trick of all, and he did it with what can only be called brazen cunning. Pointing to an enormous pile of new climbing gear stacked haphazardly in the corner of his office, he grinned and said, “We’re giving away all of that.”

I turned and looked at the sparkling heap. I saw chalk bags, ATCs, carabiners, draws, climbing shoes of every make and model, t-shirts of every imaginable color, coffee mugs and sport bottles, a tangled array of climbing shorts and…

The bastard.

There on top, neatly wrapped in a clear plastic bag and glittering like the Crown Jewels beneath the florescent lights…there lay the most beautiful ruby red and gold braid rope I’d ever seen.

The RAT bastard!

Well, I was caught. Like the proverbial mouse in a trap. A snake in a drain. A big dumb beetle in a $39.99 Wal-Mart bug-zapper. Reverently I touched the Object of My Adoration. More than any other piece of gear I needed a rope. More than any other rope I’d ever seen I needed this rope.

Capitulation comes easy when you’re made stupid by lust. I mumbled OK, never taking my eyes from the prize.

I paid my $25.

I knew I had a snowball’s chance in hell of winning anything, much less that rope, but…it was gear. Almost-free gear. What could I do? I was only human.

Friday afternoon came and reluctantly, I dug out my old black bodysuit, re-stuffed the flattened tail until it actually looked sort of like a living cat’s instead of roadkill, and safety-pinned it to my butt. I then turned my red Zen climbing shoes into black paws with the help of a cheap magic marker, and made little claws on them with triangles of athletic tape. Black gloves and Rocky Horror Picture Show eye-makeup completed this expensive ensemble, and viola! Catwoman was ready to party.

When I arrived at the gym that night, it was just like that scene from Legally Blonde. You know, the one where she walks into what is supposed to be a frat costume party wearing a skimpy pink bunny outfit, and everyone’s in jeans and preppy shirts. They all stare at her. A few snicker.

So there I was in head-to-toe clingy black spandex, with my limpdick pinned-on tail, a mukluk with sewn on ears, and cheesy gold collar. No one else in the gym was in costume. Not a single person. Everyone stared. If someone had snickered, I would’ve ripped their throat out…

John said I’d win the costume contest by default. THAT certainly made me feel much less like a complete idiot, let me tell you.

I was contemplating various ways of disemboweling this pathological liar with the most excruciating pain possible when, fortunately for him, six other people (well, actually…they were kids) showed up in various forms of costume. I was certainly the oldest in the group…by decades. I was also the most costumed of the costumed few (what was up with these children? Didn’t they like to be unrecognizable to even their moms?) Luckily, I still had a very spunky kid in me who adored costume parties. WTF, I thought, the cat was out of the bag—might as well climb.

So me in my feline getup and a big bunch of pretty much costumeless 10 to 23 year olds pulled plastic all night long. OnYourLeft and Hairball were my posse—they found the “gimme” routes with high ratings and easy cruxes, and cheered me on when I faltered or got lazy. Believe it or not, I actually had a good time. Of course, by the end of the evening I would’ve happily settled for winning a measly coffee mug. Nothing like bouldering next to a hormone-ridden 20-something male to get reality-slapped about one’s bouldering abilities or lack thereof.

All too soon it was over. We were given Wahoo’s burritos (mine was catfish, of course) for dinner and awaited the tallies.

Halfway through the cold burrito, they started naming off winners and handing out the prizes. I really thought I had the costume competition in the bag, but they gave the prize to a 10 year old with an axe in his chest and ketchup running down to his knees. Appropriate, I suppose, but damn, there went one of my two miniscule chances to win anything.

Fibber John ran through the Beginners Category, and I didn’t make it there, either. Nothing. Zilch. Goose egg. That had been Catwoman’s only other chance—this I knew. Not even good enough to take 5th in Beginners. Yes, I seriously sucked.

“So what,” I mumbled to myself. “It only cost me $25 to enter and I did have a great time. I've done things tonight with the wounded paw I didn’t think I could ever do. It was fun.”

My burrito tasted vaguely like cat-chow and I peered down to see just what it was I was half-heartedly gnawing on. A $25 burrito should have tasted better than this.

Realizing I could now happily cheer for everyone else and not hold onto the ridiculous fantasy that by some aberration of the Known Universe I was still in the running, I tuned back in to what John was saying. He was rambling off the Intermediate Category winners. 5th place, 4th place. I glanced at the neatly arranged prizes, my eyes falling on a black coffee mug with a glittering gold Mountain Hardware logo embossed on it.

3rd place. I would love to have that mug.

2nd place. Gold and black were almost as beautiful as gold and ruby red.

Finally, the 1st place winner of the Intermediate Category. I really wanted that mug. I was wondering where I could possibly buy one like it when…

From a great distance, I heard, “And 1st place goes to L ma-mat-ma-mum.”

What was that? I looked around to see who had won, but no one stood up. I looked back at John.

I saw his lips moving. It looked like he was saying my name…he was certainly smiling and nodding at me.

No way, I thought to myself.

“L the Catwoman,” he said again, motioning me to get my long-tailed butt up off the floor and come claim my prize.

“NO WAY,” I repeated out loud, Velcroed to the carpet in disbelief.

And then one of the hormone-ridden 20-somethings who was helping with the comp walked over and handed me a plastic bag. It was a clear plastic bag…the sort of bag a rope company would use to protect a rope. And yes, amazingly enough, it did contain the most beautiful ruby red and gold braided rope in the world.